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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24377695">In Too Deep</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_like_barnes/pseuds/blue_like_barnes'>blue_like_barnes</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Smut</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 01:15:11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,879</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24377695</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_like_barnes/pseuds/blue_like_barnes</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The morning of his forever turns into one he'll never forget.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>James "Bucky" Barnes &amp; Reader, James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader, Steve Rogers &amp; Reader, Steve Rogers/Reader</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>65</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>In Too Deep</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>
<p>Gold dawns in Ludlow, Massachusetts. </p>
<p>Skittering light along the froth of the falls, down the vein of the brook and across fluttering hues of autumn that surround a quiet inn. </p>
<p>It filters through windows of a room painted teal, up steep cathedral ceilings and down curved ends of soft chestnut hair. Morning illuminates blue sky eyes creased at the corners with luscious content.</p>
<p>Beautiful. Endeared by sunrise herself.</p>
<p>Braced above you, Bucky moves slowly, tempoed with deliberate leisure. It’s a pace to savor, to be felt, to pull a supplication of sighs from your lips, rolling sweet buoyancy down to your toes. </p>
<p>Fingers slip along dewed skin, pressing and gripping hard into muscled flesh. Cool metal trails fire along your waist, up between your breasts and down over them again. The thrust of his hips is glacial, and he laughs throatily when you shudder beneath him.</p>
<p>He dips his head down, pressing his mouth to your ear. </p>
<p>“Close?” He teases, kissing a path that makes you squirm and grip at him tighter. </p>
<p>“To dying,” you pant, chasing him, hips bucked up eagerly into his, “I’m close to <em>dying</em>. Bucky,” and as his lips curve into a roguish grin, you urge him with a simple but desperate, “<em>Please</em>-”</p>
<p>Laughter rumbles his chest again. He presses closer, flesh and metal scooped beneath your shoulders, hauling you against him, skin on skin. Stubbled chin scrapes along the path of his kisses, chasing the warm, wet lick of his tongue.</p>
<p>“Least you’re going out with a bang,” he murmurs smugly, punching an indignant bark of laughter from your throat.  </p>
<p>“Awful-” you choke out, but his hips meet yours harder before you can reprimand him further, a solid snap of his cock that leaves you lightheaded.</p>
<p>It’s like this a lot. Delicious agony rendered from a man well versed in restraint with a penchant to fuck. </p>
<p>And oh, <em>can</em> <em>he</em>. </p>
<p>With stamina set to outpace a marathon runner, Bucky often makes a game of how long he can last. How wet he can have you, writhing and trembling beneath him as you shakily implore:</p>
<p>“Please. Baby please, I <em>need</em> it-”</p>
<p>It gets him off, it really does- the Achilles heel that is the soft heat of your whimper that only comes when he’s pushed you there, fingers knocked urgently through the strands of his tied up hair as your mouth slants over his and you kiss him, deep.</p>
<p>He acquiesces then. Finally. Rough and urgent and <em>hard</em>, punching those glorious little noises from your lips until you come, nails digging half moons into his skin as he grips you tight and follows suit.</p>
<p>The afterglow is sweet, the way it always is. </p>
<p>Warm, mingled breaths as heartbeats settle in tandem, and all rakish deviance hides itself again beneath soft, muscled solider. Bucky presses his lips tenderly to your palm. He kisses every finger, admiring the way that painstakingly chosen asscher cut solitaire sparkles off one of them, the one that makes you <em>Mrs</em>. <em>Barnes</em>, and makes him simultaneously weak and horny all over again.</p>
<p>“We’re retiring,” he declares, carrying you with him as he rolls onto his back, drifting hands onto the backs of your thighs, “Just gonna stay here and wake you up like this every morning.”</p>
<p>It’s a thought. It really is. And it pulls a little murmur of content from you as you settle onto him, ear pressed to the steady thrum of his chest.</p>
<p>But, “No can do,” you sigh, fingers netting the curved ends of hair that have fallen from his bun, “You wanted to sign the papers on that brownstone. We’re going to be working forever.”</p>
<p>He vibrates beneath you. Palms roam up the curve of your ass and give it a squeeze as he presses a kiss to the top of your head. </p>
<p>“You liked it just as much as I did,” he protests.</p>
<p>“Mm. I loved it,” you answer, raising your head enough to stretch a kiss to his chin, “I love <em>you</em>.”</p>
<p>That softens him.Still. Even now. Any buried trace of hardened fighter bled out from the edges by those words. He swallows hard as he looks at you.</p>
<p>“I love you,” he breathes back.</p>
<p>His phone rings.</p>
<p>A piercing blast of song from the bedside table that startles you both as he reaches out haphazardly and you push yourself up from where you lie, straddling his hips. </p>
<p>“The hell?” He grunts, squinting at the screen and groaning, his mouth dipping into a scowl before punching it quiet with a furious finger.</p>
<p>The music stops, but you don’t miss the handsome smile that flashes across his screen just before Bucky drops the phone onto his chest.</p>
<p>You snort, “Goodbye my lover?”</p>
<p>“What?” He asks.</p>
<p>“Why is your ringtone for Sam <em>Goodbye</em> <em>my</em> <em>Lover</em>?”</p>
<p>“I’ve never heard that song in my life-” he insists as you shake with laughter. He fights at a smile, catching your hand and raising your fingers to his lips. </p>
<p>“C’mere,” he urges, tugging at them, “Come back-”</p>
<p>Sound rips through the room again.</p>
<p>“Son of a bitch-” he groans, declining the call once again, Sam’s winsome grin disappearing off the screen, “it’s seven in the fucking morning. We’re sleeping.”</p>
<p>“We are not.”</p>
<p>“Okay. We’re <em>fucking</em>,” he amends, dropping his phone onto the mattress and grasping your hips, “It’s seven in the fucking morning, and I am <em>fucking</em> my <em>wife</em>. Which I would like to do in fucking.peace-”</p>
<p>You laugh as he tugs you down again, chasing your lips as you parry, “What if he needs something?”</p>
<p>“He doesn’t. I just made the mistake of threatening everyone for even thinking about bothering us this weekend. Pulling this shit is just his way of pissing me off.”</p>
<p>“Ah, doesn’t Sammy know he can still come over to play with you once we’re all moved out of the compound?”</p>
<p>Frustrated with your avoidance of his mouth, Bucky pushes up onto his elbows and moves back to rest against the headboard. He carries you with him, arms encircling your waist as he tugs you closer onto his lap.</p>
<p>“Nah,” he grins, “told him I’d be too busy once we’re hitched.”</p>
<p>“Doing what?”</p>
<p>“Doing <em>who</em>-” he amends, nipping your lip.</p>
<p>“<em>Bucky</em>-”</p>
<p>His phone rings.</p>
<p>“Oh, motherfu-” he swears, snatching at it again, stabbing it silent before he waves it out toward you.</p>
<p>“You gotta fix that,” he says, “You gotta make it stop.”</p>
<p>“I’ll make it stop.”</p>
<p>“I’m gonna kill him.”</p>
<p>“No you aren’t. Just like he doesn’t kill you whenever you piss him off.”</p>
<p>“That’s different.”</p>
<p>“How?” </p>
<p>“It’s funny when I do it.”</p>
<p>You smile, “I don’t know, this is pretty funny, too. Maybe because it’s about time both of you buck up and admit how much you care about each-”</p>
<p>
  <em>You touched my heart you touched my soul</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>You changed my life and all my goals</em>
</p>
<p>With a roar of finality that makes you quake with laughter, Bucky takes his phone back, prodding the green <em>Accept</em> and shoving it against his ear, “Listen, <em>dumbass</em>,” he spits through the receiver, “Unless you want a <em>very</em> explicit description of exactly what I’m wearing right now, I’d-” </p>
<p>“-what?”</p>
<p>“-hang on. <em>Sam</em>-”</p>
<p>In the time it takes you to process the change in his expression, the humor tinged agitation morphed into something that courses fear through your veins, Bucky’s waving a hand out to the nightstand. Blue eyes meet yours desperately, glaciers framed by a face white as snow.</p>
<p>“Whatisit?” you whisper, climbing off his lap as your heart lurches in your chest, “What’s happened? What do you need?”</p>
<p>He finds it- fist closing around the television remote, trembling as he drags it toward him. His eyes meet yours again, brimmed with something so desperately heart-wrenching.</p>
<p><em>I’m sorry. I’m so goddamn sorry</em>, they seem to say, and with the press of a button, the television flickers to life behind you.</p>
<p>
  <em>…earlier today, and we received information that the alleged sighting took place this morning. We are waiting just outside the entrance now, where several unmarked vehicles passed through around 6:45 this morning. As you can see, the gates have been closed to the public. Calls to the compound have gone unanswered, and no word yet on an official confirmation. But we’ll be waiting. Live, from Albany. Tom…</em>
</p>
<p>She’s pretty, you think absently, the reporter who halts your world. A poised and practiced smile and polished black curls. She tosses the segment casually back to the anchorman. Like it isn’t a death knell aimed at the life you’ve created.</p>
<p><em>…Thank you, Simone, </em>Tom smiles placidly from his desk, <em>Folks at home, if you are just now tuning in with us, breaking news. Multiple eyewitness reports coming out of the Avengers Compound allege a preternatural sight when, just after sunrise this morning, lead Avenger Captain America was spotted disembarking a plane in the hangar bay.</em></p>
<p>Tom cocks his head, eyes sparkling with interest as he dangles the fruit of intrigue over the people watching from the other side of his camera. </p>
<p><em>If that seems unremarkable to you, </em>he says<em>, let me clarify that by Captain America, I am of course referring to the original supersoldier, Steve Rogers.</em></p>
<p>
  <em>As you are all very likely aware, Captain Rogers went missing in the summer of 2020, when the jet he was piloting disappeared over the Atlantic. Though the wreckage or the body were never recovered, Rogers was presumed dead that half decade ago. Bill…</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Thanks, Tom. Well, folks- Captain Rogers had been returning home from a conference with the king of Wakanda that day, six years ago…</em>
</p>
<p>Numbness cuts them off. Bubbling agony and disbelief welling up in your throat. Eyes. Ears. The press of Bucky’s leg is still warm against your back, but he is silent now, too, his phone discarded again in the rumpled sheets of the bed.</p>
<p>Phone. </p>
<p><em>Phone</em>. </p>
<p>The buzzing you’d misinterpreted as ringing in your ear grows louder. Incessant vibration from your side of the bed, from the floor where you’d plugged your phone in to charge earlier. </p>
<p>You don’t have to wonder who is calling. Don’t have to ponder who is waiting on the other line as your reach with trembling fingers and grab the screenlit face you haven’t allowed yourself to look at for so long.</p>
<p>He’s handsome as ever. Beautiful, bright eyes and a sheepish smile. Your favorite candid of him looks right back at you, as if no time has ever passed. As if thousands of desperate, heart pouring texts typed to him in the middle of the night, when you swore you’d stop breathing if he didn’t <em>come back</em> to you, hadn’t gone unanswered.</p>
<p>Shakily, on the tip of emotions threatening to derail you, you slide the toggle to answer.</p>
<p>“Hello?” You whisper, on the vestiges of hope. The cusp of fear and worry that it is all such a cruel joke, “Steve?”</p>
<p>There’s a brief silence, a crackle of noise on the other line, and then:</p>
<p>“<em>Baby</em>-”</p>
<p>The endearment breaks you. His warm timbre breathed urgently into you, filling the cracks of your soul. That voice you’d begged and pleaded and bargained to hear just <em>one more time.</em> And it sears.</p>
<p>“Oh, baby,” he whispers, like he’s coddling some frail and fragile child, “Oh, God,” he says, “<em>Thank God</em>-”</p>
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